


Mr. November

by badtemperedchocolate



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: AU, F/M, Firefighter Brad, Things I Regret, consist of nothing, i'm trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtemperedchocolate/pseuds/badtemperedchocolate
Summary: It all starts the day he walks into Spoons.
Relationships: Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 23
Kudos: 147





	Mr. November

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by Brad's incredible courage putting out the fire in Priya's pizza oven that one time.
> 
> my heartfelt thanks to 40millionyears and professortennant for all their help. in the BATK of fic-writing, they are my Gaby. my Rhoda. my shiny, fancy, brand-new dehydrator.
> 
> as always, this is 100% fiction.

Spoons is humming with its usual mid-morning crowd as Claire refills her bakery cases from the morning rush. Chris is prepping dressing and vegetables for the lunch rush (which he has timed, with precision, and it starts at exactly seventeen seconds after 10:47 in the morning), while Priya wipes down empty counters and stacks dishes for the wash.

As the student carries dishes back and comes out to the counter, the bell over the door jingles merrily, and Claire looks up from the display case as she sets fresh cinnamon buns in perfectly orderly rows.

Her eyes widen in spite of herself, and she looks back down. Alex Delany is a regular, of course. But today he’s brought a friend. The guy on the left is as tall as Alex, with a scruffy beard, baseball cap tugged backwards over his curly hair, wearing the same t-shirt, showing that he, too, is a firefighter at the station right up the street.

But then, Claire knows he’s a firefighter. She’s seen him before. But not in person.

Priya gave her a firefighters calendar for her birthday last year ( _it’s for charity_ , she’d insisted, her eyes sparkling), and while she’d rolled her eyes at Delany’s pseudo-macho pose in April, she’s looking right at Mr. November, and the photo…well. He’s exactly the same.

(Scruffy, beanie covering his curly hair, flannel shirt rolled up to show his muscular forearms, axe over his shoulder as he leans in to chop wood.)

Not that she’s eyed that page more than a few times, of course. She certainly doesn’t have any opinions about his arms.

(They’re even better in real life.)

Delany grabs the other guy’s shoulder and pulls him forward. “Hey, Priya! This is my buddy, Brad. He started at the station last year.”

“Hi!” Priya’s possibly the friendliest person in a three-mile radius. “Welcome to Spoons. What can I get you?”

“Gosh, I dunno. It all looks good.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, scanning the chalkboard menu, looking at the pastry case. “Well, you work here. What do you think I should get?”

“Hmm.” Priya tilts her head. “Claire, what should he get?”

Brad follows Priya’s gaze over to where Claire’s standing, spatula in hand. “Oh, hi. Sorry. Didn’t see ya there.”

“Hi.” She sets the spatula down, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’m Claire.”

“Oh, so _you’re_ the famous Claire From The Bakery everyone’s been talking about.”

She blinks. “I – excuse me?”

“I’m Brad.” He grins, reaching across the glass display case. His hand is huge; it dwarfs hers as he gives her a firm handshake. “Did you make all these?”

She looks down at the case, all perfectly ordered rows of buns and bagels and rolls and mini quiches. “All – uh, yeah. I did.”

“Wow.”

“Claire runs the bakery,” Priya explains. “She makes the _best_ pastries.”

“Oh, yeah?” Brad looks back at Claire, who’s mortified to feel a blush spreading across her cheeks. “Pretty cool.”

“Oh, it’s true. Claire’s awesome,” Delany agrees. “You gotta try the cinnamon buns. They’re _amazing_.”

“Okay.” Brad nods slowly, his eyes never leaving Claire’s. “Okay, sure. Sounds good.”

She pulls one of the fresh ones out of the case as Priya rings him up, sets a couple extra napkins on the plate beside it. “Careful. It’s still warm, so the icing’s gonna get everywhere.”

“That’s okay,” he grins at her, his eyes twinkling. “I like it kinda messy.”

* * *

As soon as the two firefighters are out the door, Priya turns to Claire, her eyes sparkling. “Are you _kidding?”_

Maybe Claire can play dumb. “What?”

“Seriously? You and Mr. November?”

(Playing dumb does not often work for Claire.)

She scoffs, even as she can feel her face turning red. “What are you talking about?”

“Mr. Can’t-Stop-Flirting? Mr. Likes-It-Messy?” Priya folds her arms, cocking an eyebrow at Claire. “And you were just standing here making heart eyes at him! It was adorable.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You’re blushing. That’s your tell, you know.” Priya shrugs. “Hey, I’m not blaming you. He’s hot. And those arms?”

“Priya –”

“Okay, okay. I’ll back off.”

“Thank you.” Claire goes back to the pastry case.

“- until you two end up getting married.”

“ _Priya!”_

The girl grins at her, unfazed. “I’m gonna go refill napkins.”

She walks off, leaving Claire behind the counter. Chris is still elbow-deep in sliced turkey and pancetta, blissfully unaware of the entire situation.

Chris is a champion.

* * *

The very next day, Claire’s behind the counter when Brad walks in by himself. The minute he sees her, he beams. “Claire! Claire From The Bakery!”

It’s physically impossible not to smile, she realizes. He’s just so _positive_. His very presence seems to brighten the little café. “Brad, right?”

“That’s me.” He throws his arms out with a big grin, and Claire can’t help but laugh. “Okay. I’m hungry! Gotta figure out what to eat today.”

“So what do you want?”

He leans over to scan the pastry case. “What would you get?”

“Any of them.” He gives her a skeptical look, and she shrugs. “I love all my pastries equally.”

“Oh, sure.” Brad tilts his head, looking around. “Uh, let’s do that Danish right there. And tea.”

“No coffee?”

He grimaces. “Nah, not a coffee guy.”

Claire stares. “At all?”

“Nope. Don’t need it.” He grins at her. “I’m always like this.”

* * *

Claire likes swapping out the cookies on her side of the café regularly, so she tests out new recipes fairly often, trying out her own variations to improve them. And she makes small test batches. But sometimes she makes too many.

Now she has three dozen cookies, and there’s absolutely no way she’s going to eat them all herself. For a moment she thinks about offering some to one of her neighbors, but Adam is a grumpy, sarcastic guy who once insulted her attempts at taffy, so he’s officially off her list.

So after she finishes at Spoons, she takes her tray of shortbread and molasses crinkle cookies and jelly thumbprint cookies down the street to the firehouse.

(There’s no particular reason she’s going to the firehouse. None at all. There’s no one particular person she’s hoping to see.)

She’s met plenty of the firehouse crew, so she waves as she sees Christina and Andy outside winding up some of the hoses as a half-dozen jackets are airing out in the sun. They point her inside. In the garage, she finds Brad. He’s wiping down the mirrors on the fire truck, but the minute he sees her, his face lights up.

“Hey, Claire!” He immediately sets down the rag, hopping off the truck to come greet her. “What brings you by?”

Claire’s about to answer when she hears a soft _arf!_ , and she turns around to see the tiniest puppy she’s ever seen, skittering across the floor as he runs towards her.

Claire gasps, immediately setting the tray down and kneeling to scratch the dog’s ears. “Oh my God! He’s so _little!_ ”

“This is Toby.” Brad crouches down beside her to skritch the little guy’s ears. “Well, his _full_ name is Toby Goofy. He’s our buddy.”

Toby _arfs_ again happily, scrabbling at her thighs, and when Claire scoops him up in her arms, he licks her ear and she giggles. “He’s _so_ cute.”

“Yeah, he’s a good little guy. Aren’t ya, bud?” Toby butts his head against Brad’s hand, trying to get him to scratch his ears. “I guess they said he was a stray. They found him just hanging around here, and when no one came to claim him, they just decided to keep him.”

Toby wriggles free from Claire’s arms and runs off, and Brad gives her a hand to stand back up. “Well, not that it ain’t always nice to see ya, Claire, but what brings you around? Got a fire somewhere?”

“No, no fire. I, uh – I had a bunch of extra cookies.”

“Lookin’ to give ‘em a good home, huh?”

“Exactly.”

He shows her into the firehouse kitchen, which is small but tidy, the mismatched collection of appliances immaculately tidy. She sets the tray down and unwraps it, washing her hands before pointing everything out. “They’re just extras I had left over. I was trying out some new recipes.”

“Hey, you brought ‘em to the right place.” He picks up one of the shortbread cookies and takes a big bite, chewing enthusiastically as he nods. “Delicious, Claire!” Brad grins, cramming the rest of the cookie in his mouth. “Top-notch.”

“Thanks.”

“I dunno, though –”

“Wait, what?”

“Might be a _little_ too buttery.”

“Too –” her mouth drops open – “too _buttery?_ Brad, it’s shortbread. It’s _supposed_ to be buttery.”

“Hey, not saying it’s bad! It’s really good. Just, y’know.” He shrugs. “Kinda buttery.”

The rest of the firefighters start streaming in, exclaiming in delight at the tray of the cookies, and soon Claire’s being flooded with compliments.

She turns to Alex, who’s just finished his own piece of shortbread, grinning toothily at her. “Top-notch, Claire.”

Claire picks one up, looking it over. “Brad said it was too buttery.”

“Hey, don’t listen to Brad. What does he know, anyway?” Alex grins at her, grabbing another cookie.

“Yeah,” she agrees absently, staring down at the shortbread in her hand. “What does he know?”

* * *

On her way back to her car, Claire frowns.

(Letting things go has never been one of her strengths.)

So she ducks into Spoons, grabs another spare shortbread cookie, and walks into the cheese shop next door, where Carla and Molly are sorting through a new shipment. Carla opened The Stinking Bishop not long before Chris opened Spoons, and Claire’s in the cheese shop at least once a week, looking for new samples.

After Carla hands her a new sample of cheddar, Claire lets them try the shortbread. Molly just smiles and tells her it’s great, but Claire can’t get over it. “Carla, is this too buttery?”

Carla chews thoughtfully. “Maybe – maybe just a _little?_ It’s good, though. Honestly, just pull back the butter about five percent. But everything else is perfect.”

Claire looks down at the cookie with a sigh. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

* * *

She sneezes twice on her drive home, and by the time she sits down to eat dinner, her nose is running.

She’s not sure how, but it’s absolutely Brad’s fault.

* * *

Free cookies – especially cookies made by Claire From The Bakery – are a big hit at the firehouse, so everyone signs a thank-you card the next morning. Unsurprisingly, the cookies are gone within that time.

Delany hands Brad the envelope, where he’s written _Claire From The Bakery Saffitz_. “You go take it over.”

“Why me?”

“Because she likes you best.”

* * *

When he walks into Spoons, Chris is toasting bread, and Priya’s behind the counter, textbook open in front of her.

“Hey, Brad.”

“Hi, Priya. Whatcha reading?”

“Studying. I have a test tomorrow.” She shuts the book, which, it turns out, is _Fundamentals of Aerospace Engineering_. “What can I do for you?”

“Is Claire around?”

Priya folds her arms, arching a perfectly-shaped eyebrow. “Oh, am I not good enough for you now?”

“What? No, no, Priya, you’re great, it’s not –”

“Relax, I’m messing with you.” She leans on the counter. “But Claire’s actually not here today. She’s out sick.”

“Oh.” Brad looks down. “Jeez, I didn’t know. I hope she’s okay.”

“I just talked to her this morning, and she said she’ll probably be back tomorrow,” she assures him. “So is there a reason you need her?”

“Well –” he holds up the card. “This is from all of us. Wanted to thank her for the cookies she brought over yesterday.”

Priya makes a soft _awwww_. “Oh, she’ll love it! Here, let me call her.”

She pulls out her phone and opens Facetime, and after the dialing tone, she waves at the screen. “Hey, Claire! How are you?”

 _“I’ve been better,”_ Claire replies through the phone, her voice croaky and nasal. _“What’s going on?”_

“You’ve got a visitor! Say hi!”

Priya turns the phone to Brad, who sees a startled-looking Claire on the screen. Her hair is tugged back in a messy braid, her face is pale, she’s wearing glasses and some kind of sweatshirt, and she looks so soft and sleepy and miserable that his heart melts.

“Hi, Claire. I hear you’re not feeling so good.”

“ _Brad?_ ”

“Yeah, hi.” He waves. “I came to bring you this.” Brad waves the thank-you card at her. “We loved your cookies. Got everyone to sign it.”

She looks delighted, even through the little phone screen. “ _Oh, thank you! That’s so sweet! Thanks, Brad_.”

“Thank _you_ , Claire. Now get well, okay? Drink lots of water, and eat garlic.”

She tilts her head. “ _Garlic?_ ”

“Garlic’s like magic. Fixes pretty much everything.” He’s going to have to make sure he teaches this woman about the finer points of allicin release. “Gotta get better, yeah? Toby Goofy misses you.”

She smiles at that, soft and shy, and if he wasn’t already in way over his head, well –

“ _Tell Toby I said hi and I’ll come see him again, okay?_ ”

“Sure thing. He’ll be waitin’ for ya.”

The call ends and Priya takes the card, promising she’ll give it to Claire next time she sees her. “Anything else?”

Brad leans over to look at the sandwich fixings. “Hey, Chris, buddy – is that giardiniera?”

Chris looks up from his work. “Yeah, I just opened it up.”

“Sweet. Let’s do that on roast turkey, yeah?”

“You got it.”

Chris makes the sandwich and wraps it up, and Priya hands it over with his change. Brad turns to leave.

“Oh, wait, Brad!” Priya waves a hand at him. “Claire just texted. _Tell him he was right, the shortbread was too buttery._ ”

Warmth fills his chest, and he can’t help but smile.

“Tell her – can you tell her it’s still the best cookie in town?”

Priya beams at him. “Sure.”

* * *

Brad walks out, sandwich in hand, and Chris folds his arms. “So how long until he and Claire start dating, do you think?”

Priya laughs. “Minutes. Did you see his face when he talked to her?”

Chris goes back to his work, shaking his head. “When did this place turn into a soap opera?”

* * *

Two days later, Claire walks into the firehouse with a little Tupperware full of home-baked dog treats for Toby.

Toby loves them, and before she can stop him, Brad grabs one and crams it into his mouth, chewing with gusto as she stares at him, mouth open in horror. “ _Brad!”_

“What? It’s pretty good.” He grins at her. “Kinda tastes like Lucky Charms.”

* * *

Brad becomes as much of a regular as Alex Delany, sometimes coming in alone, sometimes with other firefighters. He asks Priya how grad school’s going, trades ideas with Chris (“I’m telling you, Chris, garlic fixes _everything_ ”), and lavishes praise on everything Claire makes. He also occasionally asks if she has any more dog treats.

Eventually, one day when he and Delany stop in to pick up lunch , Claire’s at the main counter as Brad walks up to ask for a water cup.

She hands it over with a smile, and Delany, standing nearby, gets a shit-eating grin.

“Brad, you may as well just ask for her number already.”

Brad freezes, Claire blushes furiously, Priya giggles, and Delany just walks away with his cheeky grin.

Eventually, Brad walks back up to the counter, shooting dark looks at Delany, and hands Claire a scrap of paper, clearly torn off his receipt. “Here.”

It’s a string of ten digits in scrawling handwriting.

She looks up, wide-eyed. “Brad?”

He shrugs, trying to look casual, but she can see how red his ears are. “Delany’s gonna give me shit until I do something, so, I figured, there you go. Your call. Hey, throw it out if you want. No big.”

He and Delany leave with their food, and Claire tucks the paper in her pocket.

* * *

At home that night, Claire slowly types his number into her phone, and after long deliberation, she finally types out a message.

_I didn’t throw it out._

She sets the phone down to finish making dinner, but a few minutes later it buzzes and she immediately grabs it to see his response.

_glad to hear it._

* * *

When Chris is out, everything just gets a little bit more hectic. None of the other part-time staff are available, so Spoons is just up to Claire and Priya for the day. Claire gets in early to handle both bakery and café duties, and by the time Priya gets in, all is well. Breakfast isn’t too much of an issue, since Claire had lead time to prepare.

But the lunch rush (10:47:17 on the dot, as usual) sucks.

She and Priya keep up, but barely. Without a third person to keep up with orders, they have to tag-team the register, and then one of the coffeemakers stops working, which means Claire has to leave Priya behind the counter alone to try and fix it, and the customer line grows. Between the two of them, they manage, although wait times are a little longer than usual.

The lunch tide is turning, though the store is still pretty full, and Claire hurriedly slices bread.

She knows perfectly well that mistakes happen when a person rushes in the kitchen. She knows it. And she doesn’t normally have any problems with it. But today?

It’s just a fraction of a second of distraction, her hand slips, and suddenly there’s a stinging pain across her palm, bright red welling up and dripping on the cutting board below.

She drops the knife with a startled cry, wrapping her good hand around her bloody one, vaguely aware that Priya’s hurried to her side. “Oh my God, Claire, what happened?”

“I just – it’s okay, it’s okay.” Claire takes a shaky breath, following Priya over to the sink. “Just an accident, I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, shit. It’s bleeding a lot.” Priya grabs a towel. “Here, press that down and I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

“No, Priya, you should go out and take care of the store. I’ll be fine. I just –”

“Claire? Priya? What’s wrong?”

Both women look up to find Brad ducking behind the counter, concern on his face. Claire lets out a breath. She hadn’t even seen him walk in. “Just a little knife accident. Nothing serious.”

“A _knife?_ ‘Nothing serious?’” He shakes his head. “Honestly, Claire. Let me look at it.”

“Brad, you don’t have to –”

“Excuse me, lady. Trained medical professional here.” He holds up a hand to forestall her protests. “C’mon, lemme just check it over. Priya, you guys have a first aid kit?”

Priya hands him the little red box and Brad immediately opens it, reaching for gloves, shaking his head. “Honestly. Gotta be careful with knives, Claire! Those fuckers are dangerous!”

“Thanks. I’ll try to remember that.”

“ _Jeez_ , Claire.” He shakes his head, snapping on latex gloves and digging through the first aid kit. “Did you try cutting the bread? I hear that works better.”

“Thanks, doctor.” Claire bites her lip, wincing as he spreads her hand open to look at the cut. “ _Ow_.”

“Sorry.” He turns her palm over, checking for other injuries. “Well, looks like a clean cut, and it’s not too deep. It sucks, but you’re gonna be fine.”

He works quickly, efficiently, and before she realizes it, her hand is clean, sanitized, and he’s wrapping it in gauze, murmuring _there we go, that’s it_. She lets out a breath.

Brad smooths the ends of the bandage around her palm and peels off his gloves. “Well, looks like you’ll live to cook again.”

“Glad to hear it.” Claire turns her hand over, flexing it experimentally. It doesn’t hurt too badly. “Thank you.”

“No prob.” He packs away the gauze and ointment, closing up the first aid kit. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want you getting’ hurt anymore.”

Claire blushes, looking back down at her hand. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good.”

He turns to put the first aid kit away in one of the open cabinets, but then he pauses. “Whoa, whoa whoa whoa! What’s this?”

Claire turns around to find him looking at the corkboard tacked above her desk. Where the firemen’s calendar is tacked up, and _his_ photo is clearly visible.

_Oh no._

“It’s not –”

“Not what now?” He grins at her and Claire can feel the blush spreading across her cheeks. “Can’t help thinking it ain’t November right now. Ain’t even close to it, actually.”

“I just – forgot about it.”

It’s not even convincing to her own ears, and sure enough, Brad’s eyes are sparkling. “Oh, right. Yep. Easy to forget, y’know, when it’s right there in front of your face.”

She glares at him halfheartedly. “For your information, Priya gave it to me. As a joke.”

“Hey, I’m flattered. I’m just November.” He flips through the other pages, chuckling. “They put all the buffer, better-lookin’ guys in the summer months.”

Claire _refuses_ to say anything about his arms. No. She’s not giving him the satisfaction.

“Hey, Claire. Claire.” His eyes are softer, even as he’s still smiling. “You don’t gotta be embarrassed. It’s kinda nice.”

Claire just huffs, and he nudges her shoulder.

“You know, if you guys ever made a bakery calendar, I’d buy one. And I’d keep your picture up by _my_ desk.”

Her heart pounds in her chest, her face flaming, and when she chances a look up at him, there’s such utter sincerity on his face that she catches her breath.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she can feel them drifting together, and it feels so soft and easy and –

“Hey, Claire?”

Priya calls from the front, and Claire flinches, stepping back from Brad, trying to regain her composure from – from whatever this was. “Yeah?”

“You okay? I could use a hand out here.”

“Uh – yeah. I’ll be right there.” Claire tucks her hair behind her ear, chancing a shy look up at Brad. “I have to –”

“Sure, sure. Duty calls.”

“Thanks again.”

He leaves with a grin, and Claire finally shakes her head and goes back to work.

* * *

Brad will never admit to anyone how long it takes him to decide on the perfect text to send her that evening.

_is your hand okay?_

He holds his breath for the three and a half minutes that pass before his phone buzzes with her response.

_It will be, thanks to you :)_

* * *

The next day, Brad just has the inexplicable urge for a muffin.

No particular reason.

Before he gets into the bakery, though, he sees Claire out back, unloading flour sacks from her car.

As he walks up, she sees him, and he could swear her brilliant smile lights up the whole scene. “Good morning.”

“Hola, Claire! How’s the hand?”

“It’s great.” She turns it over, wiggling her fingers experimentally. “Thanks again.”

“Just your friendly local first responder,” he shrugs, but she’s beaming at him, and it makes him feel like a million fucking bucks. “Hey, let me give you a hand. That’s a lot of flour.”

He shoulders one of the other sacks before she can do more than gape. “No, Brad, you don’t have to –”

“Just doin’ my job, lady.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “It’s literally not your job.”

“Hey, c’mon, Claire!” He sighs dramatically. “I’m trying to be helpful, here. Civic duty and all that.”

She pouts a little – it’s adorable and more than a little hot – but just sighs and grabs her own sack of flour, stacking it on a pallet inside the open kitchen door, watching him follow suit.

(And is he wrong, or is she stealing a look over her shoulder?

He’s probably wrong. But he makes sure to flex his arms a little. Just in case.)

Brad helps her with the last few sacks of flour, and as they finish up, instead of waving and going back inside, Claire pauses, absently twirling the end of her braid in her fingers. “Thanks for doing your civic duty, Mr. First Responder.”

“Happy to help, ma’am.” He mock-salutes. “You mind if I quick check your hand, though?”

“My hand?”

“Just want to make sure it’s healing up right, no infection or nothing. Be pretty embarrassing if I screwed that up, ya know?”

Claire eyes him skeptically, but finally holds out her hand for him to look. Her hand looks so small in his, so delicate, and he can’t help but grasp it carefully, touching her like she’s made of glass as he peels back the bandage. The cut’s healing fine; it probably won’t even scar.

“It doesn’t hurt that much,” she says softly. “You did a good job.”

“Good.” His voice is rough; he clears his throat. “Ah, good. Glad to hear it.”

Brad should really let go of her hand. He should. And he will, honest. Just after he takes a second to linger, tracing her palm, brushing his thumb over her wrist, marveling at how pale she is against his tan skin. The touch makes her gasp softly, but she doesn’t pull away.

Her eyes are endless, wide and dark, and as she looks up at him he can’t help himself, taking just that half-step closer, his eyes falling to her mouth in spite of himself.

“So, uh –” he’s transfixed watching her speak, her lips soft and full and rosy – “what’s the prognosis, Dr. Brad?”

“I think you’ll live.”

She nods slowly, watching him from under those dark lashes. “You sure you don’t want to kiss it better?”

His whole body goes hot and tight because that’s _definitely_ interest in her eyes, no question, and there’s no possible way to stop himself from drifting closer and closer until –

The door bangs open nearby, shattering the soft, quiet moment. Claire steps back, pulling her hand away abruptly, and Chris comes out with several garbage bags in his hands. “Oh, hi, Brad. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good, bud. How about you?”

Chris talks about whatever, and Brad keeps stealing glances at Claire, who keeps stealing glances at him.

She follows Chris back inside the bakery, and Brad goes back to the firehouse, because he never actually wanted a muffin anyway.

* * *

Carla folds her arms, watching a familiar tall figure walk past the Stinking Bishop. Well. Would you look at that.

Molly leans over the counter, dropping an armload of Gruyère and Havarti. “Something out there?”

“Hmm?” Carla looks up. “No. Just Brad.”

“Again?”

“Yep.”

Molly huffs a short laugh. “How many sandwiches is that idiot going to order before he finally just asks Claire out?”

* * *

Brad finds the firetruck emoji on his phone that afternoon.

Claire knows, because he sends it to her twenty-six times in the space of eight hours.

* * *

Molly and Claire have been friends for a while, and Delany – who always seems a little more cheerful when Molly’s around, Claire can’t help but notice – often joins them for drinks or dinner on free evenings.

It’s a cool, breezy evening when Claire and Molly walk up to the firehouse to find Alex sitting in a picnic chair in the front lawn, wearing civilian clothes. He brightens as they walk up. “Hey!” Alex grins and leans back towards the door. “Hey, Brad, get your ass out here!”

Brad appears, still wearing his FIRE t-shirt, obviously still on shift. “Hi, Molly. Hey, Claire.”

“Poor Brad, stuck here working.” Alex sighs noisily. “Really sucks to be you, bud.”

“Hey, could be worse,” Brad shrugs. “Nice night and all. I’m stealin’ your chair here when you leave, Delany.”

Claire worries her bottom lip between her teeth, but finally looks back at Brad. “Do you – want some company?”

He looks surprised (she doesn’t blame him, because why would she trade drinks for no-drinks?), but says, “Yeah. I mean, if you want. It’d be nice.”

“What a great idea!” Alex Delany (who is a little shit, but Claire’s known this for a long time) exclaims brightly. “Don’t you think so, Mols?”

She smiles sweetly. “Absolutely.”

Delany runs back into the firehouse and returns with a second chair, and if this entire thing hadn’t been totally impromptu, Claire would swear he’s had it sitting there for weeks, just in case.

“Here you go.” Alex unfolds the chair and sets it down next to Brad’s. “Now you kids be good. Molly? Shall we?”

Brad shoots him a glare, muttering _Delany_ under his breath, but Alex disappears down the street with Molly, and Claire just shrugs and sits. Delany is…Delany.

“It _is_ a nice night,” she offers, crossing her legs, smoothing her skirt.

“Yeah. Y’know, I don’t mind night shifts like this. If I weren’t working, I’d be at home with a beer, just like this,” he says absently, tilting his head back to look up at the clear, starry sky.

The temperature has been dropping steadily since the sun went down; Claire hadn’t realized it at first, but now that she’s sitting down instead of walking around, the breeze cuts right through her dress.

“You okay?”

She rubs her hands together. “Fine.”

He eyes her for a moment. “Hang on.”

He disappears inside the firehouse, and she’s not sure what’s going on, until he comes out again holding one of the firemen’s coats.

“Here.” He holds it up. “Not the most stylish, but it’ll keep you warm.”

He wraps it carefully around her shoulders, and Claire burrows into it gratefully, relishing the warmth. It’s boxy and heavy and way too big and she immediately loves it. “Thanks.”

"Sure." His gaze lingers, and she catches her breath when he finally meets her eyes again. "Looks good on you."

The door opens, and she turns to Andy leaning out towards them. “Hey, Claire, you want coffee? We’ve got regular or decaf.”

“Sure – decaf, thanks.”

“You got it.”

He returns a minute later and hands her a cup. Between the coffee in her hands and Brad’s jacket tucked securely around her, she’s immediately comfortably warm.

“Thanks,” she calls after him, and he waves as he walks back inside. “That was nice.”

“Ah, he just wants you to bring food by again,” Brad chuckles. “You’re pretty popular here.”

“Really?”

“Oh, sure you are, Claire From The Bakery!” He grins at her. “After all those cookies? You’re everybody’s favorite.”

She’s feeling brave, so she turns her head to watch him as she asks, “What about you?”

She sees him swallow, and she gets the distinct feeling that Brad, the most casual, carefree person she knows, is anything but casual right now.

He finally drags his eyes to meet hers, and she can see the moment he decides something. When he finally answers, his voice is softer. Lower. Almost intimate.

“I think you know you’re my favorite, Claire.”

His frankness catches her off-guard, even as it makes her heart hammer a delighted rhythm against her ribs. She looks down at her cup, feeling the smile that’s threatening to overtake everything.

“You’re my favorite, too.”

* * *

After whatever it is they’ve stumbled onto together in their lawn chairs under the stars, the conversation drifts. Brad is shocked when he discovers just how many movies she hasn’t seen.

“ _Sniper,_ Claire? C’mon, tell me you’ve seen _Sniper_.”

She shakes her head. Despite the fact that she’s totally sober, she feels giddy, giggly and light and as charmed as she’s ever been. “Sorry.”

“ _Claire!”_ He shakes his head sadly. “You know what? I’m not mad. I’m just a little disappointed.”

She dissolves into giggles again. “I’m so sorry.”

“Gonna have to take time off work,” he sighs dramatically, “get out _all_ these movies, work our way through ‘em, all because _someone_ ain’t been properly educated.”

“Properly – Brad, I went to Harvard!”

“Then there’s _no excuse_ , Miss Saffitz.” He wags his finger at her disapprovingly. “Should’ve paid more attention in your Tom Berenger class.”

“Who?”

“Tom Berenger, Claire!” Brad throws his hands up. “Oh, this is a _disaster_.”

She’s still laughing as Toby Goofy comes running up, letting out an excited _arf_ as he tries to hop up on Claire’s chair. She scoops him up into her lap and scratches his head, letting him lick her fingers and burrow his little head against her arm.

“Even he likes you best here,” Brad says softly, watching her with undisguised fondness.

“I like coming around here,” she says quietly.

* * *

By the time Claire finally pulls out her phone, she’s stunned to see that it’s almost midnight. “Oh, wow. I had no idea.”

“Sorry to keep you here.”

He looks guilty, and she hastens to reassure him. “No, no! I don’t mind at all. This was – really nice, actually.”

Brad’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “But I really should go.”

“Your car somewhere nearby?”

Claire nods. “I left it at Spoons.”

“Kind of a long walk from the bars, ain’t it?”

She shrugs. “It’s not that bad. And it’s free parking. What’s bad about that?”

“Sure as hell can’t argue.” He stands, offering her a hand to pull her up. “Well, the least I can do is walk you there. Safety first, y’know?”

Claire grabs his hand, which wraps around hers, big and warm and steady. “Safety, huh?”

“Oh, yeah, Claire!” He tugs her to her feet. “You might get lost! Wander into the forest, get eaten by bears!”

“Uh-huh.” They’re turning onto the sidewalk now. Claire’s mouth hurts from smiling. “What would I do without you?”

“Get lost in the woods, that’s what.”

* * *

So Brad walks her back to her car to keep her from getting lost, despite the fact that she can actually see the café from the firehouse.

As she approaches her car in front of the café, Claire finds herself dragging her feet. It was two lawn chairs in front of the fire station, a cup of decaf, and a tiny puppy.

It might be the best date she’s ever had.

They finally reach her little Hyundai, and she’s out of excuses.

“You should probably take this back,” she says, pulling the coat off her shoulders with regret. She can’t explain why, but it felt like a security blanket. “Thanks for letting me borrow it.”

“Anytime.” Brad takes it with a soft grin. “Looked better on you, anyway.”

He reaches out and gently brushes a strand of her back, tucking it behind her ear. Claire looks up at him, and as soon as she sees his gaze focusing on her mouth, she knows.

“Brad?”

“Yeah?”

She swallows. “Are you going to kiss me?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

It all happens at once, she thinks; his hand cups her face with infinite gentleness, her eyes flutter shut, his breath is warm on her skin, and just as a breeze gusts over them, raising goosebumps in her skin, his lips are on hers and it’s pure magic.

As big as he is, as loud and energetic and all-over-the-place, he kisses her carefully, like she’s this delicate, precious thing he can only barely touch or she’ll disappear. Claire sighs into his mouth, sliding her hands over the strong shoulders she’s spent so much time fantasizing about. His tongue traces her lips, gently coaxing them apart, and as he deepens the kiss, her mind goes completely, blissfully blank.

By the time they break apart to breath, her heart is pounding, her back pressed against the side of her car, and she’s almost dizzy from it.

“Hey Brad?” she whispers.

He nuzzles her cheek, presses a soft kiss to her jaw. “Yeah?”

“I really like you.”

Brad strokes her hair, traces his fingers over the line of her jaw, and the softness in his eyes absolutely undoes her as he leans in to kiss her again.

“Like I told you,” he murmurs against her mouth. “You’re my favorite.”

* * *

Claire finally drives away, and Brad waves, taking a deep breath before tossing his coat over his shoulder and walking back to the firehouse.

As he gets back, he sees Delany and Molly standing outside chatting with Andy. Delany waves, but does a double-take as Brad gets closer. “Hey, buddy! Where’s Claire?”

“She, ah. She left.” He jerks a thumb back over his shoulder, indicating Spoons down the street. “Went home.”

“And you walked her back to her car?” Molly coos. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest?”

Brad shrugs. “Hey, didn’t wanna let her walk by herself.”

“Good for you, man.” Delany grins at him, and as much as Alex Delany is a shit sometimes, right now, he’s totally sincere. “Claire’s awesome.”

She is, in fact – Brad’s currently convinced that she’s damn near perfect, and he’s already counting the minutes until he can kiss her again – but he and Delany have a special, nuanced language to express their mutual friendship.

“Ah, shut up, Delany.”

* * *

Claire Saffitz is a full-grown adult. She’s mature and level-headed and just the slightest bit cynical.

As she’s walking into the bakery the next morning, she gets a text from Brad – _good morning beautiful_ – and gets butterflies in her stomach like a schoolgirl.

* * *

Is she surprised when, by 9:30, Brad still hasn’t walked into the café with his easy grin and his bright blue eyes and those arms she likes even more now, if that’s even possible?

Well, yes. She’s surprised.

But then at 9:41 her phone buzzes, and she looks down to find another text from Brad: _i’m out back can u sneak out for a few min_

That’s less surprising.

He immediately follows it with another text that consists of three firetruck emojis, which is the least surprising.

* * *

Claire thinks she deserves credit for spending at least twelve solid seconds trying to tell herself that this is immature and unprofessional.

That said, by 9:43 Priya’s covering at the front counter and Claire slips through the kitchen and out the back door, where she finds Brad pacing, hands in his pockets.

“Hey, friendly local first responder.”

The minute he hears her, he turns around, and the happiness on his face is like sunshine.

“Look at you, sneaking out, cuttin’ school.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Never pegged you for a bad girl, Claire Saffitz.”

The heated interest in his eyes sends goosebumps over her skin, but she just rolls her eyes. “You’re the one who asked me to come out here, remember?”

He nods solemnly. “I do.”

“Well? What is it? Do you need something?”

“Oh, hell yeah.” He backs her up against the wall and leans in to kiss her, quick and hot. “I really, _really_ needed some of this.”

It goes from innocent, to playful, to heated, in about six seconds, and Claire’s knocked his hat off and he’s working a hand under her apron to tug at her shirt.

“Claire, are you – _oh_.”

They both freeze, turning to find Chris Morocco staring at them from the bakery door, wide-eyed.

There’s a long moment of silence, and he finally just sighs. “You know, I didn’t ask for this.”

He goes back inside.

Claire can’t help it; she dissolves into giggles, leaning her head against Brad’s chest as she laughs. He wraps his arms around her, hugging her close. “Well, there goes the idea of subtlety.”

“Subtlety, schmubtlety.” He kisses the top of her head. “So, uh – you wanna come over tomorrow night? For dinner?”

She nods. “That would be great.”

He steals a few more kisses before Claire sighs and puts a hand on his chest, pushing him back just far enough that she can catch her breath.

“I should get back to work,” she tells him regretfully.

“Yeah, I know.” His eyes sparkle, and when he leans in, he kisses her on the cheek, soft and warm. “See you tomorrow.”

* * *

To his credit, Chris doesn’t say anything when she walks back into the café with pink cheeks and a smile she can’t hide.

* * *

When Claire knocks on the door the next night, bottle of wine in hand, Brad opens the door bareheaded, scruffy, his curly hair actually fairly tidy, wearing a soft plaid flannel shirt, a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder.

“Claire!” He says it like her presence is some glorious surprise, as if he didn’t know exactly when she’d get here (because she texted him when she left for his place). “There you are!”

She tugs him down for a kiss, smiling into his mouth. “Hey.”

Claire follows him inside. His house is tidier than she’d expected, honestly. It’s a little cluttered, but everything is clean and tidy, and the kitchen is warm and fragrant with the scent of garlic and oregano.

“Smells delicious.”

He puts the wine in the fridge to cool off a bit, hangs up her coat, and shows her what he’s working on. “So here we are, Claire. Steak pizzaiola! Old family recipe. We got our peppers, our beef, nice fresh garlic and oregano. And this focaccia here, not to brag, but I _did_ make it myself.”

He hands her a piece, and sure enough, it’s delicious, savory and light and balanced, just a pinch of salt. “Brad, this is great!”

* * *

The genuine happiness on her face fills him with incredible pride, and he’s sure as hell not going to admit that this is the third batch of bread he’s made, because he wanted to make sure he got it absolutely right tonight.

* * *

His phone rings as he’s setting the bread on a tray to warm up in the oven and Claire’s just finished putting plates and silverware out.

He mutters _Sorry_ as he looks at the caller ID and answers. “Delany? What’s going on?” He falls silent for a moment, listening, and the look on his face sends a chill through her. “Okay, yeah. Where?” Another long pause. “No, I’m good. Haven’t had any.” He listens for a second, then rubs his forehead with a grimace. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. Yeah. bye.”

He hangs up, scrubs his hands over his face, and looks at her with sheepish eyes. “Claire, I’m _so_ sorry –”

“What is it?”

“They’re calling me back in. There’s a fire at one of the warehouses on the east side, and Chief’s worried it might spread, so they’re pulling in anyone off-duty who’s clean, just in case we need more manpower.”

“Clean?”

He nods. “Alcohol. And we haven’t opened the wine yet, so technically I’m clear to go.”

“Oh.” Of course. She looks over at the sealed bottle on the counter, two empty glasses near it. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I know this is, like, the worst timing, but if we can get it under control, they’ll let me go,” he assures her, still looking apologetic.

“It’s okay. I know this is important.” Claire grabs her keys, reaching for her jacket. She parked in his driveway; her car is blocking his.

He looks surprised that she’s taking it so calmly – and she’s disappointed, sure – but Claire’s friends with pretty much everyone at the fire station, and she can’t bear the thought that they might need his help.

“Claire – I know it’s not –”

“No, no. Come on. I’ll drive you.”

* * *

As she pulls to the curb, far behind the barricades, Claire stares with wide, shocked eyes.

The warehouse is an inferno.

Flames lick at the windows, smoke billows up to blot out the stars, and she watches in horror as the firefighters swarm around the scene, buckled into protective gear, strapping on oxygen tanks to run towards the blaze.

Brad’s throwing open the car door almost before the car stops, running towards the nearest engine, where he calls to Andy and Delany and walks over to confer with Rhoda, the fire chief, who starts pointing at the nearest fire hydrants and the building.

Claire steps out of the car, wrapping her arms around herself as she stares up at the burning warehouse.

It’s not that she didn’t know what firefighters do.

She’s just never looked at it quite like this.

* * *

A few minutes later, Brad jogs back over to where Claire’s standing. He’s already pulled on coveralls and his fire-proof coat, and the look on her face tells her everything she needs to know.

It’s exactly what she knew it was, but her heart still sinks in her chest. “You have to stay.”

It’s not really a question, but he still nods. “Yeah, it’s a big one. They’re bringing in everybody.”

Claire nods. “Okay. Is there – is there anything I can do?”

“Actually, if you don’t mind – could you drop these off back at my place?” He digs his wallet and cell phone out of his pocket and hands them to her. “Hate to lose ‘em. There’s a spare key out back – the thermometer by the back door is fake, just open it up and you’ll find the key.”

“Sure, yeah.” She tucks them into her bag. “Anything else? Anything?”

“No, no. I think this is gonna take a while.” He sighs. “I’m really sorry to fuck it all up. You should just go home, ‘kay? Nothing to do here except sit and watch a fire.”

“Brad –”

“I’ll call ya tomorrow, I promise.” He gives her a tense attempt smile. “Don’t worry, Claire. I’ll make it up to you.”

She tugs him closer to kiss him quickly on the lips. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

He kisses her one more time before heading back to the fire truck, where he straps on an oxygen tank, mask, and hat, gives the chief a thumbs up, grabs an axe, and runs straight into the flames.

Claire takes a deep breath through her nose, telling herself, _He’s going to be fine._

She can do one thing, though.

* * *

The drive to Spoons is a short one, so she runs into the back, throws open the cooler, and finds what she knows is there – a huge palette of water bottles that they’ve long since stopped selling, but no one wanted to throw out.

So she lugs it to her car and takes it back to the scene, where she hands it over to two tired, sweaty firefighters. They thank her, and Claire smiles tightly, tells them to stay hydrated, before she goes back to her car.

By now the flames look smaller, as two huge hoses send water arcing towards the building. The acrid smell of smoke fills the air, and Claire can hear the static of radios and the shouting as the firefighters work.

As she watches, she sees it – a tall figure comes running out of the burning building, axe in hand. He’s brushing smoldering sparks off his jacket, patting himself down, and then he gets to one of the closer trucks, sets down the axe, and peels off his hat and mask.

It’s Brad.

She watches, transfixed, as he runs a hand through his hair and turns to talk to the guys nearby, holding the hose. One of them yells something she can’t hear, and Brad shrugs off the oxygen tank and runs to help them hold the huge hose, digging his feet in as they wrestle with it, shooting water into the flames.

Her face goes hot, and it has nothing to do with the glow of flames flickering from the building. Her mind is a mess, anxiety and worry swirling with relief and the unmistakeable heat of raw attraction, seeing him just so _brave_ and capable and strong and it’s just all too much.

She drives away slowly, looking back one last time before she turns and the burning building is out of her sight.

* * *

When she gets back to Brad’s house, the spare key is right where he said it would be.

(This is his job, she knows. He’s a firefighter. He’s done this before. But the sight of him walking straight into that fire without hesitation just won’t leave her mind, and she knows, without a doubt, that she needs to know as soon as he’s home.)

Claire sets the phone and wallet on the kitchen counter, and looks around to find everything just as they left it. Dinner on the stove, the table set. Wine on the counter, still unopened. The stillness feels wrong, somehow. It doesn’t match him. It’s too quiet.

She can’t change that, but she can do something, right? She has to do something.

So she pulls her hair back, rolls up her sleeves, and gets to work.

She covers the food and puts it into the fridge, rinses off the cookware, loads the dishwasher and turns it on, wipes down the counters, and re-folds the napkins. She’s not sure where to put them, so she sets them on the counter by the sink, then pauses, looks at them again, and adjusts them so they form a perfect right angle with the edge of the counter.

Eventually she realizes that she’s stalling.

She doesn’t want to leave. She doesn’t know why, exactly. It’s not like there’s anything else for her to do.

But she can’t shake the image of him running towards that burning building, axe in hand. No hesitation. Total, utter calm and determination. It was such a confusing mess of feelings, pent up inside her chest, and between fear and the sheer dark heat of physical _want_ , she’s so, so confused.

Between attraction and worry, she just doesn’t have the energy to pretend anymore.

So she finally wraps herself in the throw blanket from the armchair and curls up on the couch.

* * *

It’s late, so late it’s early, when Claire finally wakes to the sound of the front door creaking open, a soft bump, and Brad’s cursing as he stubs his toe. The lights come on, and she shields her eyes for a moment as they adjust to the sudden brightness.

She sits up, rubbing her bleary eyes, to see Brad shutting the front door behind him as he kicks off his shoes and sets his keys on the nearest table. He’s still wearing his t-shirt, holding the flannel he’d been wearing earlier, and even from here, half-awake, she can tell he looks dirty.

“Brad?”

“Claire?” He looks up, startled, like he can’t quite believe she’s still here. “Aw, Claire, you didn’t have to stay.”

She kicks off the blanket, sitting up and running a hand through her hair as her eyes adjust to the lights again and she stands to come towards him. He doesn’t look tired or sleepy at all; he looks wide awake, and she can see the adrenaline coursing through him.

He looks around the kitchen, realization dawning over his face as he sees the sparkling-clean sink and empty counters. “And you cleaned up – oh, Claire, you really are the best. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

He’s dirty, sweaty, soot lining his face and arms, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes, but the flood of arousal that hits her is hot and fast. The mental image of Brad in action, serious and strong and brave and _so_ hot, is overpowering, and she’s absolutely drawn in as her mouth goes dry and warmth pools between her legs.

Claire runs a hand over the broad stretch of his chest, fascinated by the firm muscles under her fingers, the hitch in his breathing as her fingers trace across the soft warm fabric of his t-shirt.

“Claire –”

His voice is low and gruff and she just can’t stop _touching_ him. Her fingers trace his arms carefully with a feather-light touch, and when she looks up into his eyes, the pure, unadulterated _want_ there sets her body alight. She swallows reflexively, and his gaze dips to her mouth for just a moment before he leans in to kiss her.

There’s nothing slow or tentative about it. He kisses her hard and fast and a little rough, his teeth tugging at her bottom lip, his tongue sweeping her mouth.

Claire whimpers and clings to his shoulders, burying her fingers in his soft, curly hair. She can already feel arousal uncurling under her skin, slow and hot, and if this is what it’s like just _kissing_ him–

His hands are so _big_ ; they span her ribcage as he slides them over her body, down to her waist, and when his hands slide down to grip her ass, she gasps, clinging reflexively to him as he tugs her hips roughly against him, and she can feel the telltale bulge pressing firmly against her.

He flinches for a second, chases her mouth to steal another kiss, and another, but finally pulls back, taking a deep breath as he tries to control himself. “Look, Claire – I’m not – I’m filthy, I gotta shower –”

She curls her fingers in his shirt, tugging him closer to murmur into his ear.

“Do you want help?”

* * *

His shirt disappears somewhere in the hallway. Her dress ends up on bedroom floor.

Claire fumbles with his belt as they stagger into the bathroom, and he pulls away from her just long enough to turn on the shower. Steam billows through the bathroom as she tries to unzip his jeans, and he kicks them aside impatiently before reaching for the clasp of her bra.

She’s vaguely aware of him tossing it aside, and she doesn’t know where it lands because then his hands are on her breasts, rolling her aching nipples between his fingers, and the roughness of his strong, calloused fingers sends sparks flooding her body.

It’s frantic and hurried and more than a little desperate. His big hands are hot on her skin and she can’t stop trying to kiss him (because his mouth is addictive and she needs more) and then she palms the heavy bulge between his legs and he groans and swears and tugs off his boxers.

Finally, _finally_ , he stands in front of her completely naked, and her mouth goes dry. He’s _big_. He’s so big and he’s already getting hard and her blood gets hot at the sight of him. She’s been pretending not to think about it since the first time she eyed his pin-up photo, but she could never have even _imagined_.

Following him into the shower, Claire gets a moment to try and catch her breath, although watching the flex of his legs, the taut muscles of his ass, she’s still ready to combust.

She steps under the hot spray and he’s on her immediately. Brad works his mouth over her throat, his fingers dipping between her legs.

She’s tempted to let him keep going, but there’s time for that, isn’t there? She wants to take care of him for once.

“Wait, wait. Let me,” she murmurs, reaching for the washcloth and soap.

She grabs the washcloth and sets to work scrubbing his body, running it over his arms, his shoulders, his chest. She can’t resist leaning in, pressing her mouth to his chest, letting her teeth scrape gently over his nipple before following the water droplets over his abs.

He’s holding back. She can tell. His body is taut, his breathing shallow, and she can feel the muscles of his abdomen hitching under her fingertips.

When her hands drift lower, she hears the change in his breathing. She traces the line from his navel, the dusting of dark hair leading down to his groin, where his cock is already hard and thick and ready for her.

She wraps her hand around him and he lets out a heavy, guttural groan, his eyes shutting. He’s so big; he fills her hand, heavy and hot and thick, and his hips buck at her touch.

Brad groans her name, his eyes shut as he tries to hold back, but the tension in his body is too much to resist, and she strokes him more firmly, up and down.

Brad lets out a deep, wordless groan, closing his fingers around her wrist as she strokes him. “Claire – fuck, _fuck_ , Claire –”

She squeezes gently, circling her thumb over his tip, and he finally breaks. He leans down to bite at her neck, tracing his tongue over the water droplets on her skin. When his long, thick, calloused fingers slide between her legs, Claire moans, her head falling back as her eyes flutter shut. He’s _teasing_ , drawing tight circles over her clit, just barely dipping two fingers inside her, and she can’t help but clench around him.

Her back hits the shower wall and she realizes: he’s done being gentle.

She barely manages to catch her breath when he’s sliding his hands down her back, squeezing her ass firmly, then gripping her thighs and lifting her up as easily as if she weighed nothing at all.

And then she’s pinned against the wall, and he’s gripping her thighs so tightly she knows she’ll have bruises. Her body is crushed against the hard lines of him, wet and slick, and she’s hot and desperate and aching and his fingers aren’t enough and she needs him _now_.

“Brad –” she manages – “ _please_ –”

He pushes her up, pressing her thighs apart, she feels him fumbling between them, and then he’s pushing inside her.

She digs her fingers into his shoulders, feeling the deep, pleasurable ache inside as she stretches to accommodate his size. He holds very still, waiting for her to adjust, gritting his teeth, his brawny, muscular shoulders taut with the effort.

She nods slowly, licking her lips, her eyes fluttering shut as he starts moving.

His thrusts are long and slow, and she’s already so frantic, it’s not long before she’s bucking against him, whimpering.

Claire digs her heels into his ass, pushing herself higher, and then he thrusts into her even deeper and she cries out, her back arching. It’s all too much – the hot water splashing her oversensitized skin, the sheer _size_ of him, the big hands gripping her thighs – and she can’t hold on much longer.

“ _Brad_ –”

She can’t get the words out, but she’s close, she’s _so_ close, and she just needs –

He grips her ass and thrusts harder, then gets one hand between them to work over her clit, and the sensory overload pushes her trembling body over the edge.

She comes hard, crying out as she tightens around him, and he follows, spilling into her and groaning into her skin.

* * *

By the time he shuts off the water and wraps a towel around her flushed body, her legs are still shaking.

He carries her to bed, where he pulls the covers over them, and she’s asleep almost as soon as he kisses her goodnight.

* * *

Claire wakes up early.

She’s sore.

She’s still exhausted, but a glance at the bedside clock tells her she has to get up if she’s going to be at work anywhere close to on time.

Brad’s completely dead to the world, so she slides carefully out of the bed, tiptoeing to the bathroom to find the clothes that are…well.

A little scattered.

She _finally_ finds her underwear, wiggles into her bra, slips her dress over her head – it’s wrinkled – and pauses while looking for her shoes to text Chris that she’s running a little late but she’ll be there. She decides not to add any more explanation.

Her shoes are on, she’s got her phone and keys, and she should really get going. But she stops by the side of the bed, wondering. He’s tired, she knows. But she doesn’t want to leave without saying anything.

As if he senses her hesitation, Brad shifts, muttering something, and cracks an eye open in the dimly-lit bedroom. “Mmmmm.” He sighs, rolling towards her. “Where s’goin?”

She smiles, leaning over to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I have to go.”

“Noooooo,” he grumbles, reaching blindly for her. “Come back to bed.”

“Sorry.” Claire runs her hand over his jaw, and he nuzzles into her touch lazily. “I’m already gonna be late for work.”

“Mmmmph.” Brad blinks at her sleepily, and the soft pout on his face is almost – _almost_ – enough to convince her to abandon work and climb right back into the bed next to him. “S’too bad.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“S’gonna rock your world again,” he sighs, burying his face in the pillow, and she flushes hotly. “Just so fuckin’ _tired_.”

“Stay here and sleep, okay?” She can’t seem to stop touching him. It’s a problem. “Call you later?”

“’Kay.” He sighs. “Call later, babe.”

Claire smiles fondly. “Okay. I’ll call. Later.”

She leans down to kiss him gently, and by the time she slips on her shoes and heads out the front door, he’s fast asleep again.

* * *

Her hair’s sort of a lost cause, thanks to the shower that really only ended up being roughly 5% about any kind of washing, so Claire tugs it back into a messy braid and hopes for the best.

She changes clothes, washes her face, puts on the bare minimum of makeup to hide just how little sleep she got last night, and she’s out the door and on the way to work in under ten minutes, which she thinks is pretty remarkable, given the circumstances.

* * *

Priya walks into work to see Claire yawning, iced coffee in hand. Not really new. Despite being a baker, Claire’s not the most morning of morning persons.

What _is_ new, though, is the soft reddish-purple mark that’s just barely hidden behind Claire’s ear.

Priya could pass it off as nothing if Claire weren’t wearing a turtleneck, which seems far too deliberate not to be hiding anything else.

* * *

It’s just after 10 when her phone buzzes. _hey babe. sorry i wasn’t more awake when you left._

She bites her lip. _It’s okay! You needed the sleep_.

The response comes within seconds. _you really wore me out babe ;)_

Claire’s about to slip her phone back in her pocket, but she can’t resist typing out a quick response.

_Just wait until tonight._

She turns it to silent and tucks it into her pocket before she can give in to the temptation and just straight-up start sexting him at work.

* * *

An hour later, a very tired Claire is pulling a tray of English muffins out of the oven when she hears a familiar voice out in the café. And smiles.

She walks out into the store, wiping her hands on her apron, to find Brad chatting with Chris as Priya makes his sandwich and grabs a bottle of tea for him. Brad had given Chris his own recipe for homemade mustard, and Chris already swears it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Brad’s mid-sentence, talking to Chris, when he catches sight of her, and he actually stops in the middle of whatever he’s saying. His whole face softens, his eyes soft and bright blue, and for just a split second, it’s like there’s no one in the world but the two of them.

He clears his throat, finishes whatever he was talking to Chris about, and after getting his food, he wanders over to the pastry case, where she’s organizing the already-perfectly-organized trays.

“You’re an evil woman, you know that?”

“What do you mean?” She fixes him with her most innocent look.

Brad grins at her, and it’s slow and smug and _knowing_ and she feels her whole body get hot. He’s looking at her like she’s pure chocolate and he knows exactly how she tastes.

(Well. He does.)

“‘Just wait until tonight?’ Oh, Claire.” He shakes his head, and she folds her arms.

“Are you going to tell me I’m playing with fire?”

“Nope.” He shrugs, letting his eyes rake up and down her body. “Just gonna think about what I’m gonna do to you. Tonight.”

“Brad –”

“In _detail_.”

Claire lets out a breath, lowering her voice. “Brad Leone, are you just trying to get me naked?”

He grins at her, slow and lazy, and her face gets hot as his gaze sweeps frankly up and down her body. “You think I have to get you naked to make it exciting?”

Claire’s tempted to lean forward, steal just one kiss. She really is. But she’s an adult, and she is responsible, and she’s sure that Priya and Chris have absolutely no idea just what she and Brad did last night.

(She’s been very stealthy this morning. She probably deserves an award.)

So she stands back, folding her arms, even as she feels herself blushing.

“Enjoy your lunch.”

“Oh, I will.” The look he gives her is only about 90% leering. “It’s gonna be _delicious._ ”

* * *

After the lunch rush tapers off, Chris comes over to the bakery side. “Claire, you look exhausted. Go home.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods. “We’re fine here till close. Priya mentioned you were up late taking water over to the fire. Go home and take a nap, okay?”

Claire lets out a long sigh and smiles at him ruefully. “Chris, you’re my hero.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He pats her on the shoulder. “Now go away. I mean it.”

* * *

She gets home, texts Brad that she’ll talk to him later, and collapses onto her couch.

* * *

Later that evening, Claire learns that Brad thinks ‘watch a movie’ means ‘turn on some obscure ‘80’s action movie in the background and immediately start rounding bases.’

She’s not complaining, though.

By the time she remembers there’s a movie in the background, Brad has her shirt unbuttoned, his hands are under it, and his jeans are starting to look a little tighter than usual.

She nuzzles his neck, shivering at the rasp of his stubble on her soft skin. “Thought you wanted to watch a movie.”

“Claire.” He pauses, looking at her amusedly. “Do you really care what happens in _Death Wish 3?_ ”

“Is that what we’re watching?”

Brad growls, his eyes dark. “That’s it. Time to get you to bed, Miss Saffitz.”

Before she can do more than blink, Brad grabs her and slings her over his shoulder. She yelps, wriggling helplessly, but he wraps his arm securely around her knees and slaps her ass teasingly.

“Brad, what are you doing? A fireman’s carry? Really?” She can’t stop laughing, even as heat floods through her body. “Kind of cliché, isn’t it?”

“Ain’t my fault you’re so _hot_ ,” he tells her.

She groans, even as she’s dangling upside-down over his back. “That wasn’t funny.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

He carries her down the hallway, to the bedroom, and tosses her onto the bed, where she lands with a soft bounce, laughing breathlessly.

“Well, in that case, I’m just gonna have to ravish you now, ma’am.”

“You are, huh?”

“Oh yeah.” He pulls her shirt off and tosses it aside, then reaches for the waistband of her jeans. “No other way.”

* * *

By the time he’s sucking on her clit, crooking his fingers inside her, she’s whimpering and trembling and she’s completely forgotten the fact that they were watching a movie in the first place.

* * *

A week later, when she brings a leftover batch of mini bagels to the firehouse, Claire kisses Brad good morning right in the middle of the kitchen.

It’s not until after she leaves that Delany claps him on the back. “It’s about _time_ , man.”

* * *

_epilogue_

When Brad brings home a proof of his photo for the next year’s calendar, Claire takes one look and starts laughing.

“ _Brad._ ”

“What?”

“This is manipulation,” she informs him. “You can’t just pick up a puppy to make yourself more handsome.”

“Okay, first of all, yes I can. Because I did.” He grins, tossing the photo of him and Toby Goofy aside and sliding his hands over her hips, tugging her closer. “Second of all – so you think I’m handsome, huh?”

“Brad –”

“Not wearin’ a shirt this time,” he points out, leaning in to nuzzle her throat. “Might be too much for you.”

Claire loops her arms around his neck, tugging him down to kiss him. “I think I can handle it.”

“Wanna prove that?”

* * *

The new calendar ends up over Claire’s desk, permanently open to November, where a shirtless, grinning Brad holds Toby Goofy to his chest, flexing his arms far more than he needs to.

Priya laughs when she sees it. “Remember when he first came in, and you swore he wasn’t into you?”

Claire doesn’t mind being wrong sometimes.


End file.
